


Relic Knight 1: Master of the Last Knight

by RainbowSheltie



Series: Relic Knight [1]
Category: Relic Hunter
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Episode: s01e18 The Last Knight, F/M, France (Country), Knights - Freeform, Knights Templar, Paris (City), Romance, Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 18:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16898148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowSheltie/pseuds/RainbowSheltie
Summary: Sydney always dreamed of a knight in shining armor coming to her rescue, after which he would take a knee and pledge an oath of loyalty to his new Master. While searching for the sword of Jacques de Molay, Sydney may have just found her knight.





	Relic Knight 1: Master of the Last Knight

**Author's Note:**

> **Alternate Universe** : Imagine a world of technology combined with medieval knights and weaponry in the streets.
> 
>  **Templars** : A worldwide police-like organization.
> 
>  **Notes** : Watch the episode. Michel Previn is cute as fuck, and while I like the idea of Nigel/Sydney, I like the idea of Michel/Sydney together more. 
> 
> **BETA** : TheSupernova

“Haven’t you ever wanted to learn how to fight with a sword?” Nigel asked Sydney.  They were on a train to their next destination and he was very clearly bored.

“You run across people all the time in your travels who carry swords and other types of sharp, pointy instruments,” he continued. “Surely you’d be interested in more than simply dodging and hiding behind makeshift shields until you manage to get the upper hand.

Sydney looked at her assistant in disbelief.

“Don’t be stupid, Nigel,” Sydney said. “I have a knight for that.”

Nigel looked around their deserted train car in mock curiosity. “Is he—or she, I suppose— invisible, then? Because I don’t see one anywhere. And I certainly haven’t met any knights in your employ, unless Claudia has some hidden talents she’s been keeping from basically everyone who knows her.”

“Claudia is not a knight,” Sydney said, ignoring the question entirely.

After a few more minutes of pestering, Nigel finally gave up.

“Fine, I’ll leave the knight thing alone,” he said. “At least tell me why basic defense in sword fighting is something you’re actively avoiding?”

“I’m not avoiding it,” Sydney said, turning to him. “I mean, how many times have we been in life and death situations where sword fighting was actually necessary?”

Nigel pretended to hesitate, counting uncertainly in his head.

“Within the last three months, or over the long course of my employment as your teaching assistant?” Nigel said, somewhat sarcastically.

Sydney sighed. “Not _that_ many times.”

“But enough.” Nigel cut in.

“And what about you?” she shot back. “I don’t see you picking up martial arts or weapon training.”

Sydney, taking a page from Nigel’s book, pretended to ponder the question.

“And how many times have you been in a situation where knowing how to fight might have saved your life?”

“Point taken,” Nigel admitted. He was not an athlete by _any_ sense of the word, and as such had no right to talk. He turned back towards the window, clearly dropping the subject altogether.

* * *

Swords and sharp-bladed instruments were the weapon of choice for many in the general populous, as only the insanely rich could afford guns. Sydney preferred hand-to-hand combat, a mixed-martial arts style. She didn’t like wielding weapons, and found most situations could be solved without violence.

The people who openly wielded weapons were generally knights, policemen or military soldiers. Knights in the old days were famous for swearing an oath of loyalty to their masters, who ranged from kings and queens, to lords and earls. Today, almost anyone could request the services of knights.

Although there were different orders of knights to choose from, the most famous were the reborn Knights Templar, who were related to the ancient order by name only. They produced the highest quality knights, however they were also the hardest to come by, as they were famous for being extremely selective over who they took as their masters.

Sydney had looked into hiring a knight for protection a few times, and many knights from the Templars were more than eager to work for someone so esteemed as the great Sydney Fox. Yet, none of them were _her_ knight.

* * *

Sydney Fox’s first impression of Michel Previn was disbelief. He was a guitar playing young man with stacks upon stacks of comic books, and walls filed with various cartoon and anime memorabilia. Beyond a door ajar, she noticed a model training dummy and a glass case with a few antique swords, one of which Sydney knew belonged to a knight serving the Order of Solomon’s Temple, also known as the Knights Templar.

This was the man who was knowledgeable about the Knights Templar? He seemed nothing more than an obsessed fanatic.

But Sydney knew that first impressions were often deceiving. As a relic hunter, she had met many deceitful people, for good or ill.

For now, she would withhold judgement. There was something mysterious about him, though, something Sydney couldn’t quite put her finger on.

* * *

Sydney and Nigel followed Michel’s trail into the abandoned service tunnels below the Seine river. The tunnel looked to go on for miles; only two doors presented themselves in the immediate vicinity. One led to an empty storage room, with a single lightbulb hanging in the center.

The second was locked, but the door looked old, and it only took a few good hits to break it open.

“I take it this is his training room,” Nigel said, looking around.

It was a large, open area, outfitted to be a makeshift practice room for sword fighting. Multiple types of training dummies and targets lay around the area, with practice swords on display along the right wall. A cupboard on the far end of the room held various types of protective gear, and cleaning and sharpening supplies for the swords.

“Did we just follow him to his training room?” Nigel asked. “Ouch!”

Sydney turned around in time to see him sucking the tip of his finger. She rolled her eyes.

“What? It’s sharper than it looks,” Nigel said, motioning to the sword in front of him.

“Let’s go back to the other room,” Sydney said offhandedly.

“What, you mean the empty one?”

Sydney shook her head. “We’re missing something, I can feel it.”

Nigel sighed.

“Okay.”

* * *

Sydney had been right; the empty room held more than it seemed at first glance. Sure, Michel could just be using the tunnels as free training ground, but why go to all the trouble? Why was he down in the abandoned tunnels in the first place?

Whatever the answer to the latter may be, it was apparent the true secret to this room was the empty chamber hidden behind a secret door embedded into the right wall.

“Michel definitely had more than a passing interest in the Knights Templar,” Sydney said.

The room was a shrine to the Templars; banners, drawings, statues, papers and books, and all manner of memorabilia belonging to the associated time period lay scattered around the enclosed room.

Nigel walked up to a particularly large portrait of a Knight Templar on the wall.

“You don’t suppose it’s…” she said, trailing off.

“The rock star himself,” Nigel responded, “Jacques de Molay.”

Michel certainly carried an obsession with the sword, and if he had figured out the medallion was the key to this question, then why say it was fake?

“Let’s see what secrets this place is hiding,” Sydney said.

They were interrupted in their search by a loud clanging sound in the hallway.

“Wait here, Sydney told Nigel, quietly slipping out the door to investigate the noise.

* * *

She found Michel lying face down on the on the ground, unconscious. His sword was thrown off to the side, the tip red with blood. The back of Michel’s left hand was bleeding from a long gash.

Two men stood over him. The first man wore a mask, and held his right hand as if injured, and carried a sword. Then there was a second man, standing further back, holding a metal pipe.

They seemed to be quietly conversing with each other, unaware of Sydney’s presence.

 “What do you want?” she shouted.

The two men jumped in surprise.

“Shit,” the second man said. “You didn’t say anything about _her_ being involved!”

That voice… Sydney recognized that voice. She squinted her eyes, and just through the shadows she saw a long, ragged scar running down the man’s chin. Sydney clenched her fists in anger.

If he didn’t want to be recognized, he should have worn a mask like his friend.

“Guillaume Courbis,” she said, with barely contained rage.

Guillaume was a popular French aristocrat and art collector who had enlisted her help to find a painting that had been stolen from his family over 100 years ago. 

Long story short, Guillaume was a highly successful con-man and wannabe relic hunter who wanted Sydney to steal a painting for him. When she refused, he took her then assistant-lover, Connor Price, as a hostage, ordering her to retrieve the painting.

While the painting had been recovered, her refusal to hand it over infuriated Guillaume, and he killed Conner in a fit of rage. Of course, Sydney took her revenge by exposing Guillaume’s true identity, causing him to lose everything in the process. Shortly before he was to be sentenced for his crimes, Guillaume disappeared.

That was over nine years ago.

“You’ll never get away with this!” Sydney yelled.

The masked man didn’t respond, but he made some frantic motions to his associate signaling it was time to leave.

Sydney ran after them, following the men above ground, but it was too late. They almost ran her over as they drove off in their getaway car, and as much as she wanted to jump in her rental car to follow suit, Nigel was still hidden away in the secret chamber and Michel…

Sydney hadn’t even stopped to check if he was breathing. She swore, running back down into the tunnels, praying the entire way that Michel was still alive. Sydney cursed herself for not checking his condition first.

* * *

With Nigel’s help, they managed to carry an unconscious Michel back his houseboat.

Sydney laid Michel down on his bed, sending Nigel to get some water and to search for a first aid kit.

Nigel came back some time later carrying a glass of water, a small, travel sized packet of Doliprane, a towel and a roll of bandages.

“It’s all I could find,” he said, placing the items down on the nightstand carefully. “So, how is he?”

“Still sleeping,” Sydney said. She brushed Michel’s hair from his face.

After a moment, she set to work on Michel’s hand. She dipped the towel in the water, wiping away the blood. The gash wasn’t as deep as she had originally thought, which was a relief because she had no idea how to suture a wound or where the closest hospital might be.

Once she tied off the bandages on Michel’s hand, she quickly checked him over, finding only a slight bump on the back of his head. As there weren’t any other noticeable traces of blood, she didn’t see the need to strip him. If anything was wrong, Michel would have to tell her himself.

“Michel’s hand should heal in a few days and he might have a concussion, but I won’t know for sure until he wakes up.”

After a minute of fidgeting in place, Nigel spoke up.

“So, if you don’t need me, then I’ll just be over there…” He pointed towards the main room. “You know, keeping watch and making sure no one… bothers… you.”

Sydney nodded. “Just make sure to put the comics back in the right place when you’re done.”

Nigel grinned excitedly.

“Consider it done,” he said, swiftly closing the bedroom door behind him.

* * *

Sydney watched over Michel as he slept. A conversation she’d had with Nigel on the flight over to Paris weaved its way through her memories.

_“So, say you meet this knight of yours,” Nigel began. “How will you recognize him? Obviously, you haven’t met yet, so how does it work, exactly? Are you taking applications, or—”_

_One glare stopped mid-sentence._

_“Okay, dropping it,” he said. “I was just curious.”_

* * *

She looked about her surroundings, curious about what Michel did for a living. Judging from the numerous stacks of comics in the other room, it was possible he was a sort of comic book dealer, self-employed. When they first met, he had asked them if they came to look at his comics.

Sydney stood up, and upon turning away from the bed, found her attention caught by an enlarged drawing of the medallion on a nearby desk. She picked it up.

“Have you heard about the prophecy behind the medallion?” came a familiar voice behind her.

“Michel!” she said, startled. She placed the drawing down. “How’s your head? Are you feeling okay?”

He attempted to sit up, but regretted it instantly.

“My head…” he groaned, wincing in pain.

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Sydney said. She sat next to him. “Take this. It’s Doliprane.”

Michel obeyed, swallowing two pills and the last of the water.

He rested for a few minutes, letting the medication kick in before speaking up again. Sydney waited patiently by his side.

“So, have you heard about it?” he inquired again.

“About the prophecy?” Sydney asked. She shook her head.

Dr. Jaebert had mentioned the medallion had been found by the monks, when repairing the masonry behind the alter of a monastery’s chapel. It had been hidden for the last 700 years. If the monks had mentioned anything about a prophecy, either Dr. Jaebert hadn’t informed her, or he truly hadn’t known.

“I know the medallion may be the key to finding the lost sword of Jacques de Molay, but nothing about a prophecy.” Sydney replied, slightly upset at herself for not coming across it sooner.

Her disbelief must have crossed her face, because Michel snorted softly.

“I am not surprised,” he said. “I found it when—”

He tried to sit up again, but an obvious pain erupted upon his features. Michel was immediately pushed back down by Sydney.

“You probably have a concussion,” she said. “That guy must have hit you pretty hard.”

“I thought you were the ones who hit me.” Michel said.

Sydney relayed what happened, minus her recognition of Guillaume. She wasn’t sure how he fit into the puzzle yet, and preferred not to disclose her past to strangers.

Michel nodded his acceptance.

“Why don’t you get some rest for now?” Sydney offered. “We can talk more about the prophecy and about why we’re here when you wake up.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?” he said. “Either of you?”

Sydney paused.

“We could have left you in the tunnels,” Sydney said. “I didn’t have to clean and bandage your wounds, either. I promise, you can trust me.”

Something in her words must have convinced him, because Michel eventually nodded, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When Michel woke up, he found Sydney and Nigel chatting in the other room.

“Feel better?” Nigel asked him.

“Much, thank you., Michel replied. “I promised to tell you about the prophecy. Let me gather my research and I’ll begin.”

Michel spread out his notes on the medallion on the table near the relic hunters. Drawings, research notes and various books littered the table. He passed one of the pages to Sydney.

“One of my friends at the monastery found this prophecy hidden within the walls of the Templar’s castle,” Michel said. “He often liked to sneak away to explore old castles and ruins within France.”

“Why didn’t he tell anyone about this?” Sydney asked.

“He told me,” Michel pointed out.

“I meant the French Institute for Antiquities. Surely the curator, Dr. Jaebert, would have been interested,” Sydney elaborated. “He is the one who contacted me about the medallion. Surely Jaebert’s interest in the Knights Templar wasn’t a secret.”

Michel shook his head. “My friend wasn’t exactly where he should’ve been. He was afraid what would happen if anyone were to find out where he had been.”

She grinned. Sydney was more than familiar when it came to going places she wasn’t supposed to be.

“And I am the resident expert in the Knights Templar,” he continued. “You found me, after all.”

“Okay, point taken,” she conceded, with a small laugh.

Her eyes locked with Michel’s, and Sydney found she couldn’t look away.

After a moment, Nigel cleared his throat. Sydney hurriedly returned to the letter in her hand. It was written entirely in French, but it definitely mentioned the prophecy. That was all she could make out.

“This is the letter my friend sent to me,” Michel explained. “Part of the prophecy you had already figured out, that the medallion is the key to finding the lost sword of Jacques de Molay.”

“If the medallion was real then why did you seem so blasé about it when we first came here?” Nigel asked, surprised.

“I didn’t know if I could trust you.” Michel said, shrugging. “Surely you understand that most of the people who come to me about the sword are—”

“Two-bit relic hunters who would rob their own grandmother’s grave for a fist-full of coins,” Sydney finished.

Michel laughed. “Not quite was I was going to say, but it is an apt comparison.”

“Can’t fault you for that,” Nigel commented. “The people in that bar, though…”

“Bar?” Michel asked.

“L’explorateur Fou. It’s a bar for relic hunters and wannabe,.” Sydney explained.

Nigel shuddered. “The unsavory types. Completely opposite of us, I assure you!”

She ribbed Nigel teasingly. “He’s still a bit traumatized from our last visit.”

Michel shook his head.

“The prophecy of the medallion,” he said, changing the subject. “It’s said that only a knight pure of heart can wield the sword. This is the translation of the prophecy into English:

It shall be the knight’s destiny to swear an oath to the medallion’s protector.  
The knight is to be one with the sword.  
The Master controls the sword’s power.”

“I thought only the knight could harness the sword’s power,” Nigel said. “Does this mean the wielder of the sword can only use its power in service of the ‘Master’?”

“It seems that way,” Michel said. “I’m assuming this Master is also the medallion’s protector.”

“Maybe,” Sydney said. Right now, the medallion was currently in her possession, so did that make her the protector? Or was the sword’s Master dependent on who had control of the medallion?

“Sydney?” Michel said.

They looked at her uncertainly. Had she been talking out loud?

“I would say you are meant to be the protector,” Michel continued. “It just feels right.”

“Well, the prophecy aside, it doesn’t exactly help us find the sword,” Nigel pointed out.

“No, but hopefully the medallion will,” Sydney said.

“May I see it?” Michel asked her.

She handed the medallion to Michel. It was time to get to work.

* * *

The writing along the rim of the medallion led them to a painting in the Louvre called Pierre Chevalier, or “the stone knights”. It was a portrait of an abbey near Rambouillet, outside of Paris; although currently in ruins, it was the next stop on their quest to finding the sword.

After fruitless hours of searching the interior of the abbey, Sydney could tell Michel was losing hope.

She found him in one of the interior rooms. Originally enclosed, part of the roof had caved in, exposing the small area to the sun’s rays.

Michel was leaning against the wall, staring out into the cloudless sky.

“Maybe the sword isn’t meant to be found,” he said, acknowledging Sydney’s presence. “I did some checking up on you,” he continued. “You have quite an impressive resume. If anyone can ensure the sword’s power is not used irresponsibly, it’s you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sydney said modestly. Though she didn’t deny it, either.

“You would make a good knight,” he told her. “Whatever the prophecy might say, I can’t help but wonder if you were meant to—"

Sydney stepped up to him, causing Michel to drift off mid-sentence. She boxed him in on either side with her arms, faces only inches apart.

“The sword was never meant for me,” she said. “And when we find it, I’ll prove it to you.”

Michel locked eyes with hers.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“If you trust me,” she began, “I’ll make sure you become the knight you’ve always wanted, if you come with me.”

Silence stretched between them. Sydney wasn’t sure what had made her say that, but it was true. Sydney was beginning to understand. If Michel Previn was the knight who would wield the sword, then it was her job to see that he used that power wisely.

“A knight is no one, without a Master.” Michel said. “Are you asking me to swear an oath of fealty? How do I now you’re really the one?”

“Because it’s true.” Sydney said, stepping back. “Look inside your heart and you’ll know it’s true. We belong together.”

Just then, Nigel’s voice echoed through the ruins.

“Sydney, Michel, I found something!” he shouted. “Out here, in the courtyard!”

Sydney kept Michel’s gaze for a while longer, before motioning towards the room’s entrance.

“Let’s see what Nigel’s found.”

* * *

Upon finding La Place Sacre (the Holy Place), they made their way through a series of catacombs, until they reached a small room filled with various treasures, which she assumed belonged to the Knights Templar. There was gold, chalices, tapestries, artwork, beautiful crosses and much more decorating the floors and walls of the circular room.

In the center was a stone knight, sword clasped in its hands. Although various weapons were scattered throughout the room, Sydney had no doubts as to which one was the sword of Jacques de Molay.

Just for fun, Michel offered to let the two relic hunters go first. If the legends were true, then only one man (or woman) would be able to take the sword from its resting place.

Sydney was the first one to try pulling the sword from the statue’s hands. Nigel gave it a go as well, but both failed to budge the sword even a millimeter.

Nigel was both embarrassing and hilarious to watch. Not that she would ever openly admit to it, but the man was red and panting, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead before finally giving up.

“Okay, that thing is definitely not coming free.” Nigel said.

“Not by us, anyways.” Sydney added.

Nigel made a motion to comment, but closed his mouth shortly thereafter. To argue that either of them were “pure of heart” was slightly preposterous.

Sydney moved towards Nigel. “Keep a lookout, would you?”

“Why?” Nigel asked. “I want to see Michel try.”

“Well yes, but…” She looked around, and lowered her voice, so only Nigel could hear. “Remember that knight-thing we talked about?”

Nigel raised his eyebrows.

“Him?” he said, in disbelief. “He’s your knight? Not just the knight, but _your_ knight? The one you were waiting for since—”

“I just really need you to leave us alone right now,” Sydney hissed at Nigel. “There are things I want to do without an audience.”

She looked over at Michel, who was eyeing the sword, hesitation etched in his features.

A look of realization came over his face. “Wow, really? Here? Are you sure this is really the right time for that kind of thing?”

Sydney glared at her assistant. “Get your British mind out of the gutter and just give us some privacy. And be careful, okay? We’re not the only ones after the sword.”

“Will do, Syd,” Nigel responded, before heading back the way they had come.

* * *

“I know it sounds crazy, but I feel as if I’ve been waiting for this day my whole life,” Michel said. “I always believed the sword was out there, somewhere, dreaming I would be the one to find it.”

Michel wrapped his hand around the hilt of the sword.

“Yet if it wasn’t for you, I might have given up all hope of ever finding the it.” His grip on the sword faltered. “But what right do I have to wield such power? I may know how to wield a sword, but I’m just a comic seller. What would I do with it? I’m no knight. I don’t belong to an official order.”

“But you _are_ that knight,” Sydney reassured him, stepping up behind Michel. She pressed her body close, wrapping her hand around the one gripping the sword.

“Believe in yourself, as a knight, as a man,” Sydney tightened her grip. “and in your heart.”

“But—”

“No,” she cut him off. “Do not hesitate. I’m ordering you to retrieve the sword.”

Sydney stepped back, pleased to see Michel’s grip on the sword remained firm.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Sydney asked. “The desire to serve your Master.”

“Master—” Michel began, but was quickly cut off.

“Just Sydney,” she said.

Michel smiled. “Sydney, then.”

She nodded approvingly.

Before Michel could withdraw the sword, a slow, clapping sound intrupted them.

“Good job, Sydney,” Peter Graham said. “You’re even better than Dr. Jaebert said. I can’t believe how quickly you found it.”

A thought suddenly occurred to her.

“Where’s your partner, Peter?” she asked. “Guillaume, was it?”

“How did you know—” she began, but the smug look on her face told him everything.

She’d had a hunch that Peter might have been the masked man who knocked out Michel in the tunnel, but hadn’t had any proof, until now.

“No matter,” Peter said, pulling out his gun. “My _partner_ ,” he spat out the word, as if it had offended him, “ran off the next day with his tail tucked between his legs like a dog. Coward. Afraid of one woman.”

Peter stepped forward.

“Now take your hands off that sword.” He motioned to Michel, who looked towards Sydney for verification, before stepping aside.

Sydney sighed. “I can’t believe I was taken by a common thief.”

“Common?” Peter laughed. “I don’t think so. I’m going to have de Molay’s sword, and the power that goes with it.”

His laughter died out when the sword refused to budge from the statue’s hands.

“What…”

Sydney took that as her que to kick away his gun, falling easily into an attack stance. She was taken off guard by how well Peter could fight in hand-to-hand combat. Still, she would have beat him, had it not been for the giant axe Peter grabbed off the wall and begun swinging around wildly. Sydney barely managed to grab a nearby shield for protection, desperately blocking the heavy swings.

His last swing flung her to the floor, momentarily stunning her. She held the shield close, watching in disbelief as the axe came plummeting towards her.

“Sydney!” Michel shouted, voice strained with fear.

Michel pulled the sword from the statue’s hands, swinging it in carefully practiced circles, trying to get a better grip on its weight and feel.

Sydney caught the tail end of a sword swinging thought the air, and the axe head falling to the floor beside her.

“Sydney, are you okay?” Michel said, checking her over, all the while keeping his sword pointed at Peters throat.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she responded, relieved. Sydney threw the shield aside now that Peter was no longer a threat.

Michel turned back towards Peter.

“You have desecrated the memory of the knights templar,” Michel said. “For breaking into this shrine, and attempting to steal the sword of Jacques de Molay, I should kill you where you stand.”

Peter stutteringly pleaded for his life, but Michel shook his head.

“But I will not,” he added.

Sydney stood up, placing a hand on Michel’s shoulder.

“I’ll make sure he gets what he deserves. Nothing fatal, of course,” she said, grinning.

Peter hadn’t broken any laws (that Sydney was aware of) so although the cops may not be able to punish him, Sydney knew a few people from the L’explorateur Fou that owed her a few favors.

Her jovial attitude dropped. Sydney knelt down next to Peter slowly.

“You won’t tell anyone about this place, if you know what’s good for you.” Sydney said.

Peter nodded hurriedly. Her ‘friends’ would make sure Peter kept to his word.

She stood up, turning to Michel.

“I knew you could do it,” Sydney said to him, indicating the sword.

Michel’s smile spread across his face.

In the background, she heard Nigel stumbling around. There was a short grunt of pain.

“Ouch…” he began. “Tripped on something. Nice job with the sword, by the way.”

Sydney rolled her eyes. Nigel stepped up behind her, looking none the worse for wear.

“A little late to the party, but I’m glad to see you’re all right,” she said. “Now, let’s get this guy out of here.”

* * *

After dropping Peter off at the bar, they drove back to Michel’s houseboat. Sydney sent Michel inside ahead of them before turning to her assistant.

“I want you to take the rest of the day off. Take in the vistas, have some dinner, visit the museum, whatever you want.” She handed him a folded bundle of cash and the key to their hotel room. “Whatever you do, I don’t want to see your face until tomorrow. No questions asked.”

Nigel hesitated. “But what about the sword and—”

He stopped mid-sentence when he began to flip through the bills.

“Is- is this all for me?” he asked, stunned. “All of it?”

Sydney nodded.

“How about I meet you for lunch tomorrow at Café de la Paix, around noon?” she asked him.

Nigel quickly stuffed the bills in his wallet. “Noon, you say?”

She nodded again. He motioned to their rental car. “So, if you’re not going to use it...”

Sydney handed him the keys. “Be my guest.”

“Have fun Sydney, and good luck!” Nigel said.

He was in the car and driving off before Sydney could say another word.

* * *

“Thanks Dr. Jaebert,” Sydney said. “I knew you would understand.”

Sydeny hung up the phone, took a deep breath, then entered Michel’s residence to find him cleaning the sword with a large cloth.

“I would never have found the sword if not for the medallion,” Michel said.

He took one last pass with the cloth before sheathing it. He held the sword out to Sydney.

“I guess it belongs to Dr. Jaebert now,” he added.

Sydney shook her head. “No. It belongs with you. I thought we talked about this.”

Michel hesitated.

“Dr. Jaebert owed me a favor and agreed to let me keep the medallion,” Sydney said. “I told him everything. Peter’s betrayal, the prophecy, and you. He agreed that the sword and the medallion should be best kept where they belong. Where they would be put to good use. As long as we drop by the museum to let him have a look at it.”

Michel nodded.

“So what will you do now?” he asked her uncertainly.

“I should be asking you the same question,” Sydney replied. “You agreed to serve me not that long ago. Now that your quest to find the sword is over, and you’ve proven yourself as a knight, what will you do?”

He shrugged.

“I feel there’s so much more I should be doing,” Michel looked up, catching Sydney’s gaze, “with you.”

Michel knelt down on one knee, bowing his head. He placed the sword tip on the ground, standing it upright.

“I vow to only serve you, Sydney Fox, as a knight and as a man,” Michel said. “I beg of you, please, take me with you.”

Sydney smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

When Michel looked up to her, she spoke again.

“I’ve always wanted a knight, so I kept a spare room in my house made up for the day he would come. Although I would rather you share my bed instead.” She looked around.

Michel’s face split into a grin. He stood up, sheathing the sword as he did.

“The power of the sword is yours, for as long as you wish,” he said. “My life is yours.”

Sydney ran her hand through Michel’s hair, smiling when she saw him lean into her touch.

“What if I want more? What if I wanted everything?” she asked softly. Sydney leaned in, eyes focused on his lips.

“You already have it,” Michel responded, closing the distance between them.


End file.
